Wish Upon A Star
by the Mad bRocCoLi sTaLkeR


Disclaimer: Yes, yes, the truly amazing J. K. Rowling owns all characters in this story... although it would be quite peachy -- and ÒBloody brilliant!Ó -- to own Daniel Radcliffe ;)  
  
AuthorÕs Note: While reading this, put on some soft, rather romantic music such as Everytime I Close My Eyes by Babyface or perhaps Savage GardenÕs I Knew I Loved You -- itÕll help the mood! Also, while writing this, I envisioned Hermione and Harry as they had appeared in the movie, but three or four years older.  
  
Reviews: Anything and everything is welcome!  
  
  
  
*Wish Upon A Star*  
  
  
  
~A million stars and a million dreams...   
you are the only star I see and the only dream I dream.~  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
It was winter.  
  
Outside the snow had finally stopped falling and the thick clouds had dispersed, leaving the midnight sky clear and bright with stars. ÔBeautiful,Õ thought Hermione as she sat staring out the window of the common room, nestled comfortably into a large, dark-red couch, her feet tucked under her.  
  
ÔBeautiful,Õ she thought again, this time looking at the sweet sleeping face of the dark-haired boy across from her at the other end of the couch, an open Potions book in his lap.   
  
Firelight flickered across his features -- the fair, perfect skin that could make him look so vulnerable and young; the closed eyes fringed with long, dark lashes; the gentle lips that could curve into a mysterious smile, set themselves in a thin line when he was feeling brave or determined, pout so convincingly that she would willingly give in to whatever he was begging of her, or grin so dazzlingly bright that even in the blackest of moods, her heart would lift.  
  
And the scar.  
  
That crooked lightning scar on his forehead, nearly hidden by a mess of brown hair (AuthorÕs Note: yes, yes, I know HarryÕs hair is black, but in the movie, his hair was brown -- oh, arenÕt I silly?) but there all the same. It gave him an air of mystery, even sadness.   
  
Harry had defeated Voldemort at last in a long and taxing battle earlier this year, leaving Harry weak and unstable for at least a month. Everyone at Hogwarts had worried themselves sick for Harry -- for that month, it had been unclear whether he would live or die. At last he had recovered with much rejoicing from all, though he had lost some of his childlike innocence and now possessed a similar lightning-shaped scar on the palm of his left hand from the battle.  
  
Now everything had returned to normal, or at least as normal as things could be at Hogwarts. Everything should have been in place, and so it was for all of HermioneÕs classmates. Except there was something bothering her, pulling at her heart -- an excruciating secret she kept from Harry, that sometimes threatened to leap unbidden from her mouth.  
  
It was nearly 12:00, and Hermione and Harry had been studying listlessly for hours for a sudden Potions exam that Snape had sprung on them without warning. Hermione hadnÕt expected fourth year to be this difficult -- full of tests and new complicated spells, but fun nonetheless.  
  
Ron had turned in early, no doubt to dream of Lavender, who made him so exquisitely happy that Harry and Hermione wondered how in the world Ron had made it without her for so long. Now that they were together, though, it was almost impossible to get Ron to concentrate on anything else, even his close friendship with Harry and Hermione.  
  
This left Harry and Hermione by themselves. In the months that Ron had been together with Lavender, Harry and Hermione had become closer friends -- if that was even possible -- and inseparable, too. On occasion, they would surprise each other by blurting out the same thing at the same time; it was almost frightening sometimes how well they knew each other.  
  
ÔSometimes I think he can read my mind,Õ thought Hermione, still gazing at HarryÕs angelic sleeping face. ÔPerhaps, but how can he not realize the secret IÕve been keeping from him?Õ  
  
She loved him.  
  
She knew this with all her heart; she had known so ever since their first year together. Perhaps she fell in love with him suddenly, spontaneously, when she had first met him, in the train compartment years ago; or perhaps she fell in love with him gradually, slowly as she began to understand the clarity of his character, his integrity, his bravery, his kindness. It didnÕt matter how she had fallen in love with him. All that mattered was that she did, with all her heart and soul -- completely, wholly, perhaps forever.  
  
And yet she couldnÕt tell him.  
  
Sometimes she was so close, the words almost spilling off her tongue. Then she would shake herself, thinking something along the lines of, ÔI know he canÕt feel the same. HeÕs Harry Potter! HeÕs kind, handsome, clever -- so many other girls are in line for him! IÕm only a little bookworm vying for his attentions! He probably loves someone else -- someone prettier, funnier than me! I can never tell him!Õ  
  
But HermioneÕs love for Harry only seemed to grow by the day. It was all the tiny things -- the way his green eyes squinted while reading a book, an errant lock of brown hair (A/N: itÕs brown! There we go again!) fallen over his forehead, the clean shape of his hands, the flush in his fair cheeks after a rough Quidditch practice -- that made her fall even more deeply in love.   
  
ÔIÕm cursed,Õ she thought wistfully, almost laughing at herself. ÔI must tell him soon, or IÕll waste away from being so lovestruck.Õ Already she was losing sleep to lie awake and picture his gorgeous smile, and doodling scripted ÔHÕs on her notebooks during classes she would have normally sat entranced through, hanging on every word the professor uttered.  
  
She had told Harry she loved him one morning. It was after his arduous battle with Voldemort, as he lay unconscious in a narrow hospital bed. She had knelt next to him, holding desperately onto one of his hands that was so bitterly cold. What would she ever do if she lost him?  
  
ÔHarry, you must make it,Õ sheÕd whispered, her voice breaking. SheÕd shed countless tears for him, and a few were dropping onto the blanket now. ÔYou must pull through for all of us. I love you, Harry.Õ  
  
But heÕd never heard. As soon as she uttered ÔI love you, HarryÕ, heÕd begun snoring deeply. Under any other circumstances sheÕd have laughed at herself, but not here while Harry was so weak. And ever since that morning, she wished fervently that Harry had heard her words. She vowed that someday she would tell him, someday when he was awake.  
  
And so it became a promise to herself. She would tell Harry how she felt, before she lost herself completely in sheer and total love for him and -- oh, heaven forbid! -- her grades dropped. But telling him something so simple could be so terribly hard...   
  
She sighed, shutting the Potions book in her lap with a dusty Ôbang!Õ and reluctantly tearing her gaze away from Harry, who was sleeping soundly after hours of studying and Quidditch practice, to look out the window again. Stars twinkled like tiny crystalline waterdrops in the night sky, stretching on for what seemed like forever. As she watched, a single tiny star streaked across the sky overhead.  
  
A shooting star.  
  
ÔMake a wish,Õ she thought to herself, smiling faintly. It was a silly Muggle tradition, something Hermione had never tried herself nor believed in. As a witch, she knew that real magic was nothing like this, that wishing on a star could not cause anything to become a reality. Magic was caused by charms and potions and spells, but something vague and indistinct -- the firelight flickering about the large common room, the soft breathing of the boy next to her -- told her to make a wish.  
  
Without hesitating to think, she knew precisely what it was she wanted.   
  
Courage.  
  
Courage to tell Harry how she felt, courage to end this mad yet sweet torture she endured each time she saw his smile, each time he touched her, each time he said her name. She shut her eyes and prayed silently -- ÔI wish for the courage to let him know I love him.Õ  
  
Her concentration was suddenly broken by a soft voice she would know anywhere, a voice she heard in her sweetest dreams -- ÒHerm? What are you doing? You should go to sleep, itÕs midnight already...Ó Was that a flicker of tenderness in his voice?   
  
Hermione turned back to him, his dark hair even more tousled from sleep, and the fire casting bright flames in his clear green eyes. She thought she knew his face by heart, yet there was a beauty about him that she could never quite capture, and each time she saw him again she couldnÕt keep her heart from thudding rapidly...  
  
ÒHarry, look, there are shooting stars.Ó He rubbed his eyes, adjusted his glasses, then scooted closer to her to look out the window. For a while they watched stars flash through the sky in silence. The warmth from him being so close to her, the fresh smell of pine in his hair, the clean curve of his cheek -- it was almost too much for Hermione to take in.  
  
As the last star streaked through the sky, Harry turned to her. ÒYouÕre quiet,Ó he said. ÒWhat are you thinking about, memorizing Potions ingredients?Ó She gave a small smile. Harry was with her, they were all alone -- could there have been a more perfect time than this to tell him how she felt? She took a deep breath, then opened her mouth to let out the words that had been waiting, unspoken, for so long.  
  
ÒHarry, when I was watching the stars, I made a wish. I wished for courage, the courage to tell you this.  
  
ÒI love you,Ó said Hermione, feeling as if a huge Leg Lock spell had been undone -- but in her heart. ÒIÕve loved you for so long -- perhaps since the first time I saw you -- but I could never say it. I love you, Harry Potter. I truly do.Ó  
  
Now that she had practically poured out her soul to Harry, Hermione mentally shrank back into a corner. ÔHere it comes,Õ she thought grievously. ÔHeÕll confess his undying love for some other girl. IÕm ready for it.Õ  
  
But Harry was silent. His green eyes were huge in his face, those tender lips she loved slightly parted as if he was stunned. For what seemed like forever they sat there, the only noise the erratic popping of the wood in the fireplace. It was pure torture for Hermione. She sat squirming, wishing she were any place but here.  
  
At last HermioneÕs torment ended. Harry started to speak, and she drew in a great breath and held it.  
  
ÒIÕm stunned, Hermione,Ó he said, that gorgeous, sweet smile breaking out across his face, lighting up his green eyes. Her heart lifted, as it always did when she saw him smile. ÒI love you too,Ó he whispered. ÒI always have. Perhaps I fell in love with you the moment I met you in the train compartment, or perhaps I fell in love with you gradually, as I got to know you and we went through all those fantastic adventures together. I donÕt know -- but I love you too, Hermione.Ó  
  
Something was bursting in HermioneÕs heart, like a flower blooming and unfolding and spreading warmth throughout her. Sometimes it was almost frightening how well they knew each other -- Harry thinking the exact same thoughts she had been only moments before. In this moment she loved him more than she ever had. For what seemed like forever they sat facing each other on the couch, grinning like fools, both unable to believe their good luck.  
  
ÒThen kiss me, you silly git,Ó she whispered, surprising herself with sudden boldness. Harry leaned in, one hand lightly tracing HermioneÕs cheek, the other weaving into one of her hands lying in her lap. Hermione closed her eyes, feeling the sudden electric touch of his lips on hers, and breathing in the smell of pine and something else sweet that she couldnÕt define. She twined her fingers through HarryÕs messy hair and kissed him back. Could anything be more perfect than this?  
  
After some time, Harry pulled away, smiling at her. His hair was tousled, his green eyes sparkling in the firelight, and his cheeks strangely flushed as if heÕd just come off the Quidditch field. He was beautiful. She smiled back, but was suddenly stopped by a huge yawn.  
  
Harry laughed and touched her lips again. ÒGo to sleep, angel.Ó  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
It was winter.  
  
Outside the snow had finally stopped falling and the thick clouds had dispersed, leaving the midnight sky clear and bright with stars. Inside a large, comfortable house she slept, warm and cozy despite the frosty, bitter air outside.  
  
She slipped out of the pleasant, soft cocoon of sleep and dreams briefly, to gaze at the clear winter sky. ÔBeautiful,Õ she thought as she stared out the window at the sky, so much like the one sheÕd wished upon that fateful night back in her Hogwarts school days, some eleven or twelve years ago now.  
  
ÔBeautiful,Õ she thought again, this time looking at the sweet sleeping face of the dark-haired man lying next to her with one arm wrapped protectively around her. With him to hold her, how could she ever be cold?  
  
Multicolored lights from the Christmas tree down the hall flickered across his features -- the fair, perfect skin that could make him look so vulnerable and young; the closed eyes fringed with long, dark lashes; the gentle lips that could curve into a mysterious smile, set themselves in a thin line when he was feeling brave or determined, pout so convincingly that she would willingly give in to whatever he was begging of her, or grin so dazzlingly bright that even in the blackest of moods, her heart would lift.  
  
Hermione Potter snuggled closer to her sleeping husband, nestling even further into his warmth. She draped a hand over his chest, delighting in the quiet cadence of his heart beating.  
  
Harry stirred, lazily opening clear green eyes. She smiled at him, brushing messy brown hair (yes, I said it was brown!) out of the way to kiss the lightning scar on his forehead.  
  
ÒGo to sleep, angel,Ó Harry whispered, touching her lips. He drew her head onto his chest as she wrapped her legs around him, closing her eyes as she did so. Warmth surrounded her as she lay in HarryÕs arms, and a warmth of happiness bloomed in her chest. ÔLife is perfect,Õ Hermione thought as she drifted back into the warm cocoon of sleep. ÔI wish that we will always be this happy.Õ  
  
And a shooting star streaked across the sky overhead.  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
~A million stars and a million dreams...   
you are the only star I see and the only dream I dream.~  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
AuthorÕs Note: Oh, I know itÕs fluffy, but I think itÕs terribly sweet! IÕm a hopeless romantic, what can I say? Be a dear and please review. 


End file.
